e has a pretty
blood-red heart, but it is made of stone--a ruby, I think--and so is
rather hard and unfeeling. I think the next Glass Cat the Magician
makes will have neither brains nor heart, for then it will not object
to catching mice and may prove of some use to us."

"What did old Mombi the Witch do with the Powder of Life your husband
gave her?" asked the boy.

"She brought Jack Pumpkinhead to life, for one thing," was the reply.
"I suppose you've heard of Jack Pumpkinhead. He is now living near the
Emerald City and is a great favorite with the Princess Ozma, who rules
all the Land of Oz."

"No; I've never heard of him," remarked Ojo. "I'm afraid I don't know
much about the Land of Oz. You see, I've lived all my life with Unc
Nunkie, the Silent One, and there was no one to tell me anything."

"That is one reason you are Ojo the Unlucky," said the woman, in a
sympathetic tone. "The more one knows, the luckier he is, for knowledge
is the greatest gift in life."

"But tell me, please, what you intend to do with this new lot of the
Powder of Life, which Dr. Pipt is making. He said his wife wanted it
for some especial purpose."

"So I do," she answered. "I want it to bring my Patchwork Girl to life."

"Oh! A Patchwork Girl? What is that?" Ojo asked, for this seemed even
more strange and unusual than a Glass Cat.

"I think I must show you my Patchwork Girl," said Margolotte, laughing
at the boy's astonishment, "for she is rather difficult to explain. But
first I will tell you that for many years I have longed for a servant
to help me with the housework and to cook the meals and wash the
dishes. No servant will come here because the place is so lonely and
out-of-the-way, so my clever husband, the Crooked Magician, proposed
that I make a girl out of some sort of material and he would make her
live by sprinkling over her the Powder of Life. This seemed an
excellent suggestion and at once Dr. Pipt set to work to make a new
batch of his magic powder. He has been at it a long, long while, and so
I have had plenty of time to make the girl. Yet that task was not so
easy as you may suppose. At first I couldn't think what to make her of,
but finally in searching through a chest I came across an old patchwork
quilt, which my grandmother once made when she was young."

"What is a patchwork quilt?" asked Ojo.

"A bed-quilt made of patches of different kinds and colors of cloth,
all neatly sewed together. The patches are